Closet Fears
by Kimagure
Summary: In the aftermath of life, Harry's reluctant to reach out to anyone. Harry/Ron. Slash.


JKR, not little old me. Does this surprise you? Because it really shouldn't…

*****

"Professor Lupin?" Harry asked timidly as he cracked the door to the bedroom open. The room inside was dark, the blinds were pulled tightly shut so that no trace of the moonlight came through the wide double windows on the one side of the room. There was no sound coming from the room, but it was sound itself that had brought him upstairs in the first place. 

It had been like a cross between a feral howl and a sad, lonesome keening. In all honesty, it hadn't been that loud, but Harry had always been a light sleeper. Besides that, he hadn't even truly been asleep. He drifted here and there, but Lupin's cottage was still strange to him, and his thoughts had a tendency to plague him as soon as the sun began to set in the evening. 

"Professor Lupin?" He tried again hesitantly, inching his way into the unfamiliar room slowly, hoping that if he'd been mistaken—if the sad sound had just been a trick of his over active imagination—that Lupin would forgive him the intrusion. "Remus?" He finally whispered, trying to adjust his eyesight to the all-prevailing darkness as he shut the door behind him. It was dank in the room, he realized with a small uncomfortable start. It wasn't at all like the rest of the house. In fact, it felt more like he'd accidentally wandered into the cellar instead of the second floor master bedroom. 

"Harry? Is that you?" 

"Um…yeah. I-I heard a noise and I thought…" Not only did he have no right to be up here, Harry realized suddenly, he also sounded like some pathetic wet nosed first year. "I'm sorry, I'll just…you know, go." He quickly turned around to grab the doorknob I his desperation to leave.

"Lumnos." 

Light flooded the room, and Harry blinked back the automatic tears before closing his eyes against the overly bright light. "Ow." 

"Sorry." 

Even with his eyes closed he could tell that Lupin had dimmed the spell to something that his eyes would adjust to more easily. Cautiously he opened one eye and then the other, before turning back around slowly to face Lupin. "I'm sorry I woke you up." He spit out quickly before looking directly over at Lupin. 

"It's all right. I was already up." The older man's voice sounded world weary and unbearably sad, but Harry could still sense the undercurrent of understanding in it. He took in the image in front of him with some trepidation, however. The cool, dank air of the room was weighty on his shoulders, and in front of him, sitting up on the bed, was Lupin surrounded by bars. Great, rather solid looking steel bars that contained the man completely to the confines of the double bed. 

"Professor!" Harry gaped and then scrambled to think of something—hopefully something intelligent—to say about the sight before him. Lupin, however, tired waved him into silence. 

"I don't expect you to completely understand, Harry. Sometimes…sometimes I just can't sleep without them." The older man nodded towards the bars sheepishly, and Harry held his tongue. "I was bit by…by a cousin of mine when we were both still toddlers. My cousin's family had dealt with werewolves before, so they didn't react quite so badly as my parents did to the knowledge that their child was a dark creature.

"They meant well—my parents—but they were scared of me. So they kept me locked up downstairs in our cellar at night, whether it was a full moon or not…"

"For how long?" Harry heard himself ask quietly, feeling a quiet kind of affiliation with the older man. 

"From the time I was three until I went off to Hogwarts at eleven, and then on the holidays and summers in between after that. I don't expect you to understand completely, but I _need _this sometimes. It may seem inhumane and self-destructive to you, but try to understand that for me, this feels safe, and secure…and in it's own way, comforting. Do you understand?" The pleading look on Lupin's face made Harry wonder idly if someone else hadn't walked in on Lupin like this before and not understood what it was that the werewolf had tried to explain. 

"Perfectly." He managed calmly. "Goodnight Prof—Remus." He caught himself. It didn't seem terribly appropriate to call the other man "Professor" anymore.

"Good night, Harry." 

*****

He was twenty-three years old—twenty-four in a few weeks—and he was way too old to still be doing this kind of shit, Harry thought tiredly as he crept quietly down the stairs to the dungeons. He'd managed just fine when he'd gone to school here, but back then he'd had dormmates. And more importantly, he had had curtains on his bed that he'd pulled each night to get the effect he'd needed.

Back then, that had been enough.

But despite the fact that his own, quite comfortable curtained bed was back in the suite at the base of the tower, it wasn't enough to keep his dizzying thoughts at bay anymore. And it wasn't enough for him to drown his sorrows in. He kept one hand trailed along the wall, refusing stoutly to light the way he knew by heart. The last time he'd been down here, Headmaster Snape had read him the rather long winded version of the riot act for wandering the halls like a half crazed insomniac. As if the man was one to talk, the bloody hypocrite. 

But then again, Harry supposed that it wouldn't be entirely professional or inspire loads of confidence should some poor student catch one of their professors creeping around the dungeons in his stocking feet, jeans and a plain white muggle t-shirt. He'd never really held with pomp and circumstance in the past considering that he'd grown up wearing cast-offs that were sizes too big. Ceremony took some getting use to now.  

Maybe that was one more reason as to why it wasn't the same now as it had been when he'd been a student. Hogwarts wasn't the same, the people weren't the same. He wasn't the same. McGongall had retired, and Ron had taken her place as the Transfiguration professor. Hermione had taken Snape's place in potions. Malfoy, strangely enough, had stayed on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor while taking the Snape's place as head of the Slytherin house. 

And as for him, well…he'd replaced Hooch when she'd retired last year. Even now it was something of an odd adjustment, going from The Man Who Saved The World to first year flying instructor and Quidditch coach. His life seemed almost irreverent and irrelevant nowadays. 

Finally, as his hand stumbled on the knob to the door he was looking for, he breathed an incredibly tired sigh of relief. A quick twist and he was inside the small storage closet, his safe haven in the school. 

"Lumnos," he muttered quietly as he shut the door and flopped down on the threadbare single mattress. He'd come across the closet the first month he'd been teaching, and had quickly appropriated it for himself. Giving Filch some excuse about putting his things into storage here. 

It was cold, like it always was in the dungeons, and it suited him just fine. His closet—the one that he had lived in at the Durselys'—had been drafty and the radiators had all been in other parts of the house, so it had never been anything but a bone chilling cold, even in the summer. In a way, this really was a sort of storage room for him; he kept his most important things here. 

A sweater that Mrs. Weasley had made for him the Christmas after he'd defeated Voldemort. An old ratty robe of Remus'. The same robe, in fact, that his old friend had been wearing when they'd first met all those years ago on the train. The astrolabe Hermione had given him the birthday after Sirius. Covering the mattress was a worn old blanket Ron had given him when they'd both been doing reconnaissance and Harry had complained of the cold…

Curling up on the bed, he threw the blanket around him, inhaling deeply as he did so. It still smelled vaguely like Ron. Or so he liked to think. Even though Ron was perfectly safe and sound, upstairs in the suite across from his, Harry still missed him dearly. He missed the days and the nights that they'd spent side-by-side, inseparable by even Voldemort's worst forces. Time had seemed to change that too, and the thought depressed him immensely.  

After all, there wasn't an excuse Harry could come up with that might sufficiently explain why an almost twenty four year old man might want to sleep in his best friend's bed at night without sexual interest coming into the picture. And rest assured, he was sure that Ron would ask for an explanation if some night Harry climbed into bed with him. 

Harry could count on one hand the number of genuine friends he'd ever had in his entire life. Hermione. Sirius. Remus…Ron. Those were the people he'd allowed himself to feel deeply about. He shared his most secret thoughts only with them, and even then there were things that he couldn't—wouldn't—talk to them about. 

And he would no more threaten his friendship with Ron than gnaw off his own arm. It didn't matter that Ron's scent drove him to distraction sometimes, or that he'd catch himself staring at his best friend longer than he knew was appropriate. It didn't even matter that Ron had managed to invade most of his dreams. 

Ron wasn't his to have. Not that way. He wouldn't risk it.

There was a scratching at the door, and quietly, Harry reached up, turned the knob and cracked the door. The small furry face poked in first, and he managed a small smile as the cat deigned the room safe before proceeding in. Arabella Fig had used Hogwarts as a sort of base of operations along with Dumbledore, and when they'd both fallen; they'd left behind over a dozen cats that had long since then made the castle their home. 

"Hey Swish," Harry whispered quietly, giving the orange tabby a small scratch under the chin and scooting over slightly to give the cat room to make himself comfortable. As was usually the case, Swish padded over and then greedily took up the middle of the bed and half of Harry's chest in his gamble to get comfortable. 

He had no idea what the cat's name might have originally been, but he'd long since decided that it really didn't matter if he renamed the poor guy. It wasn't like Fig was ever going to be coming back for him or the rest of his littermates. As it was, Swish joined him fairly often down here in the closet, so in a way, he was Harry's cat now. 

"So what've you been up to, huh? Romancin' the ladies?" He teased lightly, stroking the soft fur until the cat let out a contented purr that reverberated against his chest. "My godfather used to be like that. I told you that I spent two summers with him and his friend, Remus, right? Last two summers of my school years. We'd go into town sometimes, and Sirius would do all this meaningless flirting. Remus used to say that he did it just because he could. I think he did it sometimes just to get a rise out of Remus." 

Reaching over slightly, Harry snagged the black shirt beside Remus' robe, trying not to disturb Swish in the process. He'd been talking to the cat for a little over six months now. In a way, it was funny how he could tell an animal all the things that he couldn't even tell himself. It almost reminded him of some of the conversations he'd had with "Padfoot". It was just easier sometimes to open up to something that wasn't human. 

"After…after h-he died," Harry faltered slightly as he rubbed the black shirt across his cheek. It still smelled like Sirius and the pine soap he'd always favored, "I snuck into Remus' cottage. It was swarming with Aurors, of course, but I managed to snag this shirt out of his closet. They could have he rest of his things, because they were just things and I knew that I couldn't replace him with things. But this shirt was special to me, and I wouldn't let them have it." He whispered furiously. Swish continued purring, but began kneading Harry's chest with his paws in addition. The sensation relaxed Harry greatly, and he took a deep breath. 

"He was wearing it, you see, the second summer I went to spend with them. It's kind of ridiculous in a way. Stupid, really. I mean, I was seventeen. I was practically full grown. But it had been a really hard year, and Sirius thought that I should spend the first few weeks with Remus while he took Ron so that they could both give us some extra training without distractions. It hurt so much to see him standing there, waiting for me as I got off the train. 

"It was the first time that I'd gotten off a train, expecting someone to be there—wanting them to be there—and actually having them show up. I thought my chest was just going to explode, it felt so good." He drew a deep breath at the memory. It had hurt to see Sirius there; it had hurt in the best way possible. He'd spent the entire trip on the train trying to convince himself to not get excited, to not get hopeful because ultimately it would all be for not. He'd mostly convinced himself that he wouldn't care whether Sirius was there to see him or not by the time he climbed off the train. 

And there Sirius had been, in human form, resting against one of the pillars beside the track, a happy, careless grin on his face with his hands stuffed into a pair of black muggle jeans and the soft buckskin jacket almost plastered to his black shirt as the rain came pouring down. Sirius _had_ come to meet him. 

Harry had almost disgraced himself by bursting into tears right there on the tracks; he'd been so surprised and happy. "Then he drove us the rest of the way on his motorbike to Remus' cottage, and as we walked up the front walk, he gave me this kind of half hug. You know, one of those manly "I'm not really hugging you, but I am" sort of deals. 

"And being the prat that I am, I all but lost it. I mean, how dumb, right? An almost full-grown kid grabbing his godfather in a desperate sort of hug and just _not_ letting go, as if his life depended on it. I bet he thought I was five seconds away from going completely starkers on him." Harry snorted slightly at the memory. "There were a lot of things he could have done. In all honesty, I guess I expected him to shake me off with an uncomfortable laugh. He was kind of that way sometimes. 

"Instead of pushing me away, though, he just latched on. I mean, Ron and I slap each other's backs all the time, and occasionally Hermione will give me a friendly hug…But this was different. This was one of those hugs that kind of conveyed in its ferocity just how much they loved you. In all my life…_No one_ had ever hugged me like that before." Harry shivered slightly. No one had ever held onto him the same way Sirius had that day. People barely touched him as it was, considering that he seemed to be something of an affection leper to his mind. There were just some people in the world who didn't get hugs, who didn't get held, who didn't ever learn to touch and accept touch in return. He just happened to be one of those people. 

After all, if he'd been different, if he had been one of those sort of people who inspired affectionate displays, the Dursleys…Well, the Dursleys, he decided, had found something utterly repulsive in him. It wasn't anything he'd ever been able to see. He'd spent hours looking at himself in the mirror as a child trying to see himself the way they saw him. To see what part about him it was that made him so horribly unlovable. He'd never been able to pinpoint it to one single thing. 

But Sirius? Sirius, for that one moment in time, hadn't seen what the Dursleys had seen…what the rest of the world had seen…

"It was just that he grabbed me like I meant everything in the world to him, like I was more than just unwanted trash, like I _mattered_." Harry let out a shaky breath as he tried to keep the tears at bay. "It's such a sissy thing to get worked up about. What a poof am I, right?" Swish's head butted softly against his chin at the self-reproaching comment, and Harry took the opportunity to bury his face slightly in the orange tabby fur. "I miss them both so much sometimes. Sirius and Remus, I mean." He shifted slightly, and pulled Ron's blanket up over both himself and the cat seeing as how the cold was starting to permeate through his rather thin shirt and jeans. "Why did they have to die?" He whispered so quietly that _he_ almost didn't hear himself. 

"People don't really like hugging me much," he confessed quietly to the cat. "I'm all skin and bones. Too many sharp angles. I'm really not that pleasant at all to…well, touch I guess."

"Mrow!" Swish butted his head insistently this time against Harry's chin and kneaded his paws over their position at Harry's collarbone. 

"Oh sure, _you_ don't care, you're a cat." Harry laughed softly, as he affectionately stroked the silky fur. "I could be as soft as a rock and you wouldn't mind as long as I paid attention to you. Too bad Ron's not the same." He tried to keep the wistfulness in his voice to a minimum, but he knew it snuck out anyway. 

"I told you Ron was going to be an Auror, right? And Hermione was going to work in the ministry? I…I think that the only reason that they stuck around sometimes was to make sure I was okay. In the beginning…I really wanted them to, and I still do. And I know it's selfish. 

"I mean, I should let them live their dreams, right? I _should_ just cut all ties and let them live the lives they were meant to live before they got all messed up in mine. They deserve better than the things I can give them." He lapsed into silence, stifling back a yawn. The worry had been in the back of his mind for months now. He loved his friends. They were his support, his calm, his sanity…his life. 

He _needed_ them. 

But he hated the thought of them giving up their dreams—their lives—for him. That wasn't the way that things were supposed to be. 

"I haven't slept all week," he murmured softly to Swish as the purring was starting to lull him to sleep. He could feel he could feel his eyelids drooping, but he couldn't stop talking. Some weeks it felt like he kept everything tightly bottled inside him, all his thoughts, his comments, his comebacks…his feelings. He went through the motions with the rest of the staff and the kids, but he never added to conversations or initiated them himself. The dialogue stayed safely up in his head—a running commentary on the life around him—where it couldn't hurt them…or him. 

"There are so many things I want to say, during the day, you know." He knew his words were starting to slur; they always did that when he was about to drift off. Ron had used to tease him about it when they'd been younger. A lot younger. "I want to join in when everyone laughs. I want to be able to make jokes and I want to be able to tell people about Sirius and Remus without having to worry that I'll break down like a baby in tears. I want to tell Hermione how much I love her like a sister. And I want to tell Ron how much I love him _not_ like a brother. I want to be able to tell Ron how much I want to just grab him and kiss him silly." He managed a sleepy, half delirious laugh, "Isn't that weird, Swish?" 

The cat, of course, didn't answer him. Managing a small smile, Harry curled up in the blanket. Sirius' shirt underneath his head, and Swish's warm, purring body was sidled up close to his, radiating heat.

*****

He woke slowly, and groggily. That was usually the normal routine when he'd let himself go so long without sleep. He hadn't been lying to Swish, it really had been a week since he'd last slept. He'd nodded off for ten minutes here and there, but nothing lasting in the five days he'd had classes. Snape had interrupted him on Wednesday when he'd tried to relieve his rampant insomnia with the closet. 

It was dark in the closet, but chances were it was sometime around two in the afternoon for the rest of the world. Harry groaned softly and then tried to stretch, but as he moved, he came in contact with something else completely. Something warm, and solid and decidedly non-feline was wrapped around him, holding him tight. Holding him close and protectively. 

"Mrgh?" It was the most intelligent thing he could manage. Someone was hugging him, holding him. Unconsciously he stiffened against the intrusion to his personal space. He stiffened against the unfamiliarity of the sensation. And he stiffened in panic, unsure of what to do or to say to keep the arms around him.

But instead of pushing him away, the hands pulled him closer, pulling him up against a chest. He tried to force himself to relax, but it didn't work until hands moved up under his shirt and rubbed long circles against his spine. He was fine for a few moments before he started panicking about what he should be doing with his own hands. 

Cautiously, he reached over, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. And he almost jumped completely out of his skin as the other man lightly nuzzled his neck. In fact, he was pretty certain that he'd squeaked. 

"See, now, I know I don't know a lot. But I know that you are, in fact, very huggable." 

"Ron?!" This time he did squeak, he was sure, as he scrambled to detangle himself from his best friend. But apparently Ron was having none of that. 

"Relax, would you? I promise I'm not going to bite." Ron's breath felt good against his Harry neck, and Harry couldn't resist the shiver it caused. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked softly instead as he leaned into the embrace again. The hands rubbed at his spine again, and he let out a small contented sigh at the action. It may not last for long, he decided, but he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. 

"Well, lately you've looked like the walking dead. The first years have taken to calling you Zombie Potter."

"I'm fine." He returned automatically. 

"Harry, it's me. Your best friend, remember? I'm not completely stupid. A bit slow on the uptake, maybe. Your room's right next to mine, and I can hear you pacing around at night. Is it that there's something wrong with the room?" 

"No." He could hear the concern in Ron's voice, and he honestly didn't want to worry his friend. 

"Harry…" Ron, however, seemed to be having none of that and poked Harry in the back. 

"Ow. Okay, it's too open. And silent. And God, I _hate_ it in there. It makes absolutely no sense at all. I hated sleeping in the cupboard at the Dursleys. But I can't seem to get to sleep like a normal person in a normal bed. It's totally irrational. I'm afraid I'll roll out and fall on the floor or that someone will come in and be able to see me right there in the open. I-I just feel vulnerable, unprotected. And I swear to god if you ever tell anyone I said this I'll beat the crap out of you." He finished unsteadily. He wasn't used to feeling so exposed to another living breathing person. It wasn't a feeling he much liked. The Dursleys, the Slytherins, every Death Eater he'd ever confronted…They could always sense when his weaknesses were trying to surface, and they'd never failed to draw blood.

"Sirius told me once...you know, during those three weeks that we were separated that summer...that sometimes Remus would sleep with magicked bars around him."  
  
"Yeah, I saw 'em once."

"Is it like that?" 

"Yeah." 

There was a stretch of silence, but Harry couldn't bring himself to break it. So he just let himself relax again into Ron's arms, trying not to think of what was going to happen when they had to get up, or when they had to get out of the storage closet. Ron was his best friend, and he wasn't going to demand any more of the man than he already had. 

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" He murmured sleepily as Ron's warmth seemed to be relaxing him a bit more than he expected. 

"You do know why Hermione and I decided to stay on here, don't you?" 

"Sure." He replied quickly, not wanting Ron to tell him how they'd done it out of pity for their poor, pathetically maladaptive best friend. 

"Because you know, I don't think you really do." 

"What makes you think that?" Harry frowned slightly in the darkness, wishing that they could talk about something else. 

"Oh, I don't know…I guess maybe I think that you think that we gave something up to be here, when that couldn't be further from the truth. Me and Mione talked about it, you know. Accepting the positions here. I wanted some stability, any kind of stability. I know I told you I wanted to be an Auror, and maybe for a short time I did. But in the long run? Ugh. Nights spent alone and by myself chasing the latest scum of the Earth for the latest disgusting indescribable crime? I don't want to live like that." 

"But I thought…"

"Harry, I wanted to be around the people who _meant_ something to me. The people I cared about. Hell, I helped you defeat Voldemort, and really that was enough Auror work for me. I _never_ want to go through the things we had to go through again."

"Never?" Harry asked uncertainly, not entirely sure he believed what Ron was telling him. 

"Never. Mione and I wanted to do something that was for the good of the community, but face it, after those two years against Voldemort…We were more than a little disillusioned with the Ministry as a whole. And besides that, we both love what we do here. Can't you tell?" 

"Really?" 

"Really. It's you we're worried about." 

"Me? I'm fine." 

"And yet, I still don't believe you, Mr. Insomniac." 

Harry stilled and fell silent at those words. Was this just a polite way of telling him that he was becoming too much of a burden? That he was getting in the way? He wanted his friends to be happy. 

"Do you want me to leave?" Would it make them happier if he left? He waited with his breath held painfully in his chest. It was like voluntarily cutting open an artery and waiting to see if it would bleed. 

"God no! Where the hell do you get these ideas?!" Ron's voice was rough with both frustration and anger. Instinctively, Harry pulled back away from him completely. Sitting up, he moved to one side of the closest. "Lumnos." 

Light flooded the closest and Harry had to blink a few times before he could look at Ron without his eyes watering. The redhead was dressed much the same as he was. Muggle jeans, a navy blue t-shirt, and socks. The expression on Ron's face was both pained and frustrated, and Harry resolved not to look at him for the rest of the conversation. It would hurt less that way. 

"I'm getting in the way here." He said finally, breaking the awful silence between them. 

"No, you're not, Harry. We…I just want you to be happy. You _deserve_ to be happy." 

"What makes you think I'm not?" 

"Harry…" 

"Maybe I just can't do it, okay!" The words rushed out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Maybe I'm not like you and Mione. Maybe no matter what I do, I'll never be happy. It's not all so bad, you know. I get to be here. I get to be _home_. And I don't have to worry about someone coming and killing me in my sleep anymore. Maybe my life never was about fireworks and celebrations. I can learn to live with that."

"I don't want you to have to learn to live with that. Damn it, you deserve the fireworks." 

"Says who? The Dursley's? The wizarding world? A bunch of dead people?" Harry's voice caught in his throat and he tried desperately to choke back the emotions that kept threatening to pour out. 

"Well, says me, for one. And Mione, and all the teachers here. Hell, even Snape wants you to find some happiness, okay? The man had the gall to order to me 'glue you back together' since you seemed to be so depressed."  

"Sometimes…" Harry drew a deep, somewhat calming breath, "sometimes you can't glue back together pieces that have been broken for decades." 

"Argh! You are such a prat, you know that?"

Harry glanced up startled, only to catch Ron's gaze moments before the redhead reached over and pulled Harry roughly against him in a kiss. Harry sat frozen, and more than a little scared, until Ron's fingers brushed lightly over his neck and a thumb moved to caress his jaw.

"Ron?" He was squeaking again. 

"Look, Sirius and Remus…they wouldn't have wanted you to do this to yourself. They thought you were too withdrawn as it was when you spent those summers with them. And maybe they are a bunch of dead people now, but damn it all to hell, Harry. They wanted more for you than this kind of sleepless, cheerless existence."

"Shut up." He couldn't stop the bitter tears from falling this time. "Just shut up." It was more of a whispered plea than a demand. "I didn't want them to die."

"I know you didn't." But Harry barely heard Ron as the redhead gathered him cautiously into his arms. 

"They…he…they told me they loved me. Right before the last time we saw them. And I couldn't say the words back to them. I just couldn't." 

"Harry…"

"No! What kind of a person am I? I didn't say it back. They sat there for a moment, waiting for me to say something, and all I could do was gape. And I did love them…_God_, how I loved them both, and I never got the chance to tell them that. Can you understand that? They _died _not knowing that I loved them back."

"They knew." 

"How could they?!" 

"They knew _you_. They _knew_ that no one had ever said the words to you before. They _knew_ that you didn't know how to say it back. Harry, you aren't giving them enough credit. They knew you loved them. Besides, you talked to Padfoot a couple of times about how much they meant to you." 

Harry looked up at Ron then. _Really_ looked at Ron.

"Swish?" He asked suspiciously as his stomach started twisting his insides.

"Er…" Ron blushed. "Yeah, it was Sirius' idea. Those three weeks we were apart for that one summer…You were too _contained_. Even back then, and he said you'd probably need someone in the future to talk to who wasn't entirely human. I…I think he might have suspected that summer that he and Remus weren't going to make it." 

"I want them back." It came out as a broken whisper, and he knew it.   

"Me too." 

Feeling exhausted all over again, Harry let himself slump against Ron's chest. The hands were at his back again, caressing lightly against his spine. In anything, Harry decided, this was the best part of touching, and he let out a small sigh. "Like that do you?" There was a small chuckle in Ron's voice and Harry stiffened at it, trying to pull away again. "Harry? Harry, look at me please?" 

Slowly, Harry raised his eyes until they were in direct alignment with Ron's golden brown ones. In a way, Ron's eyes were mesmerizing. Every once in a while, Harry had let himself fantasize that if he stared into them long enough, he could lose his soul in them. Like a dementor's kiss, only he knew that Ron would hold his soul close and keep it safe instead of hording it and tormenting him. 

"I _like_ touching you. I have _always_ liked touching you. Sometimes…I guess I always thought that I probably liked touching you too much."

"Ron," Harry started off in all seriousness, "no one likes touching me. Or hugging me or anything like that. It's nice of you to try and make me feel better, but I know the truth okay?" If anything, Harry's words only sparked Ron's frustration again.

"Hey, don't tell me what I feel, alright?! If I want to love you, than I'm going to love you with all my heart. So you just better damn well accept it." Ron huffed before latching onto Harry. "I love you, and I am not letting go. Understand?" 

"Ron…"

"Just tell me you understand. If you don't want me, then okay. I won't _like_ it, but I'll accept that. But if you're just going to push me away out of some misguided attempt at…I won't have it." 

"I…"

"Look, you thick headed idiot, I _love_ you! And I sure as hell am not going to stop loving you anytime soon, so get bloody use to it." Ron had Harry's face in his hands, the golden brown eyes were imploring now with a desperate, panicked edge to them. 

"Um…" Harry opened his mouth to try and say the words, but just like before they refused to come. Tears pricked once more at the back of his eyes. How was it that he could have everything he'd ever wanted, sitting right in front of him, and he couldn't get three absurdly simple words to flow past his lips? He was going to lose Ron just like he'd lost Remus and Sirius, and there wasn't a damn thing he seemed to be able to do about it. 

"That's _it_! I don't care _what_ you say, you bloody wanker! You _love_ me."  

"I do." The words were barely more than a whisper, but Ron heard them and turned an incredulous gaze on Harry. 

"What?" 

"I…" he chocked slightly before blurting, "I love you." His heart seemed to simultaneously stop and lodge itself tightly in his throat. He'd never said that to anyone before. Not anyone, and as he watched Ron's face for those few split seconds, he could feel the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead and he could feel it sliding down his back. Ron was going to laugh at him. He was going to push him away like everyone in the past had pushed him away, or forgotten about him, or died on him. And Harry was going to end up as alone as he'd always been, except this time it was going to be so incredibly heartbreaking that dying would probably seem like a blessing in disguise. 

"Well, of course I love you back, idiot." The affection in Ron's voice was almost palpable, and stunned Harry found himself in the bear hug once more. "What'd you think I was going to say?" The deep voice tickled in his ear. 

"I…er…well you were calling me names, you bloody prat." He finally managed with a shaky laugh, and he could feel Ron chuckling against him. Tentatively, Harry curled his arms around Ron's chest, returning the hug, and this time rubbing the circles in Ron's tense back muscles until they relaxed. 

Pulling back slightly, Ron managed to sneak in one more kiss before tugging them both back down onto the mattress. "It's something of a curious place to sleep," Ron said finally as Harry hesitantly gave in and snuggled closer, "but I think I can get used to it just fine. So what do you say?" 

Harry paused for a second, and then reached up to move a stray lock of Ron's red hair out of his eyes, "I'd say that you've got your work cut out for you, and are you sure?" 

"Of course I'm sure." Ron laughed in his ear, and held him even closer. "You can't get rid of me that easy, prat." 


End file.
